Conviction
by Jackisegg
Summary: What of Stoick had banished Hiccup upon discovering about Toothless? Warning: The first chapter or so is HEAVILY based off of the movie, just with a few minor differences. Rated T to be safe, may change to M later on. Cover image was on the HTTYD wiki, if anybody knows who the artist is, please tell me.


**A/N (Author's note): Okay so, it's been** _ **quite**_ **a while since I've written any fanfiction that I felt really inspired to do, so in general, this story** _ **may**_ **or** _ **may not**_ **be crap. Not to mention this is on a completely new account, as i deleted my old one a long time ago. I'm not too sure what I'm going to do with this story, only that I felt really strongly about having to write down a bunch of ideas that had recently come to my head. I'm hoping not to leave this one just hanging there, as another piece of work where time and effort have been wasted, but the school year is starting and there's a bunch of complications with my online classes, so it may very well end up being tossed in the trash.**

 **This is a HTTYD fanfiction, and it** _ **is**_ **an AU, so if you're not comfortable with anything that isn't canon, you might want to look at a different fanfic. If you're new to the fandom, or if you aren't even a part of it, feel free to read anyway, no prior knowledge about anything will be required, although I suggest looking up images of certain dragons that may be mentioned every once in awhile, as it'll really help with visualization. Can't very well ruin the imagery with a vague picture of a reptile in your head.**

 **Also! The beginning of this story is practically the beginning of the movie, just reworded and kind of changed. I didn't come up with most of these scenarios, just saying. Not until later on, at least.**

 **So, without further ado, here is Conviction, a HTTYD fanfiction.**

 **(Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD nor any of its characters. They are all creations of the incredible Cressida Cowell)**

 **-0000-**

 _ **Chapter 1**_ _ **: Introductions**_

Far to the north, beyond the Holy Roman Empire and its vast reach, within the Sullen Sea of the Barbaric Archipelago, further away than where any civilized person would dare to travel, upon a rather large island, is the village of Berk. It may not look like much, but do not let the appearance of the village fool you into thinking these people are anywhere near as humble as their home makes them out to be. Oh no, if anything, these strong, thick-headed, battle hardened warriors were far from that. They were vikings.

But these weren't your typical vikings. One would imagine a giant and fearless warrior charging head-on into battle at whatever they laid eyes on. The vikings of Berk did this, yes, but instead of raiding and pillaging, they sought mostly to hunt.

Most people would've busied themselves with cleaning their homes, chopping wood, fishing, or dealing with pests. These people didn't live on Berk. Why?

Each and every house on Berk was brand new, so there was no need for much cleaning. Most of the wood used for fires had been burned away, or had instead been used in the crafting of weapons or the building of homes. Mostly weapons. Fishing? Well, let's say the pests had scared most of the fish away already.

Yes, the _pests_. Some might imagine rats, or mice, or perhaps even insects infesting the completely new homes, but all of the rodents and insects had long since fled along with the fish. The true pests of the island were the dragons.

They would come at night, swooping down and carrying away Berk's livestock–their sheep, pigs, and cows–and fly off, the scared little things never to be seen again. The dragons burned down the homes in any village that would dare to fight back against them, and seeing how this was Berk, full of hard-headed vikings, it explains why all the houses are new. As it so happened, a dragon raid was happening on a sleepless Berk right at the moment.

There were several types of dragons out there, each and every species unique in its own way, and the vikings that were currently screaming wildly and swinging their weapons at the large reptiles knew most of these, and knew above all to kill every dragon that they could on sight.

The Gronckle, which was a short and stubby dragon, despite its appearance, was by no means weak. Its jaw strength was great enough to be able to bite blades apart with ease, and spewed out the rocks it ingested as molten lava.

A muddy brown Gronckle knocked down several viking warriors with its clubbed tail, then blasted molten rock at them as they hurriedly scrambled out of the way. Just a mere few meters away, a small cluster of vikings cautiously approached a bird-like, blue dragon.

The Deadly Nadder growled in anger and raised the spikes all over its body, which just so happened to be deathly poisonous and sharp. This dragon could easily shoot the spikes that grew upon its tail with deadly accuracy. Not to mention the Nadder's flame breath was among the hottest of the dragon breaths. The group of warriors put up their shields as the dragon swing its tail and pelted them with spikes, the shields just barely thick enough to prevent almost sure death. A lone projectile managed to slip between the shields, and a cry of agonizing pain was heard.

"Get him to the Hall!", shouted a large, dark haired fighter. He gripped his blade tightly and glowered at the beast before charging.

As his two nearest comrades dragged him towards the Great Hall, barely managing not to stumble over rocks and burning chunks of wood in their path, they rounded a corner, seeing their mead hall and meeting grounds which was built into the side of a stone cliff face. He looked over at a nearby house to see a long pair of spiked necks emerging from the upper windows, sickly green scales glinting in the moonlight as the building filled with similarly colored fumes.

The Hideous Zipplebacks, unlike most other dragons, had two heads. One that released highly explosive gas, and the other that produced a spark to light it. The first head emerged, small green fumes still coming out from between its teeth, and then the second head joined the first, with an evil glint in its eye.

The warriors carrying him ran faster to avoid harm as the building behind them detonated; Another new home to be built.

"You did great, Strom. Now go let the Elder take care of your wounds."

The three of them looked to see a giant of a man with an equally massive hammer nodding at them, smoke rising up from the burning village all around him. His red beard already covered with bits of soot, and what appeared to be a blood stain painted the end of his weapon a bright crimson. They nodded respectfully, almost in reverence, and ran in through the large doorway of the Great Hall.

"Gobber, give me the rundown," he called to another man who breathlessly ran up to him, his golden moustache burnt slightly at the tips.

He took a second to catch his breath before looking up. He lifted up a prosthetic hook attached to his left arm, "Stoick, I hope you realize it's rather hard to run with one leg," he replied, gesturing to the wooden replacement on his opposite leg. He shook his head in mock dismay, "I'm not quite what I once was, it seems! An' we've got' a few Gronckles an' Nadders, along with a couple Zipplebacks flyin' about. Spitelout said he saw a Nightmare before he went an' ran off to face a Nadder by 'imself. Idiot."

Stoick nodded, his expression true to his name, before asking, "No Night Furies?"

"No, not yet."

"Good, let's hope it stays that way. What about H-"

"He's fine, stuck em' in the forge to fix weapons and such. He's talented, that one."

"Fixing weapons isn't going to kill us a dragon, Gobber. He was running about just a second ago, he could've gotten someone hurt."

"Ah, you're bein' too hard on the lad-"

The two were interrupted as they heard a deep growl, and they turned to see a Monstrous Nightmare had come at them, fully ablaze. This dragon was among the larger species they often encountered, easily growing to about fifty feet in length, and had the unfortunate ability (for Berk's homes) to set itself on fire.

"Looks like Spitelout was right," Stoick grunted before clenching his fists and calmly walking towards at the burning dragon. Gobber merely sighed and followed, although he was sure to keep his distance. He knew better than to get between Stoick the Vast and a dragon. Yes, it was himself he was worried about, and had the dragons not been raiding them, he might very well have worried about the dragon even more so.

The sky above the routine chaos was nearly cloudless, and the stars sparkled while the moon shone brilliantly. On a night such as this, with a dragon raid happening, one just might spot a little something out of the ordinary. A predator of darkness flying across the sky, too fast for anyone to be sure if they actually saw anything or not. A shadow of death;something dangerous, something terrible. A black dragon, one that even a hot-blooded viking would fear.

And of course, it was on a night such as this that Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third sat stuck in the village forge, bored out of his mind. Hiccup was just a _wonderful_ name, he was fully aware of this. Parents believed that a hideous name would scare off gnomes and trolls–like their charming viking demeanor wouldn't do that.

He half considered headed back to his house and going back to sleep, but a rather impatient viking was waiting for their sword to be fixed. Not to mention a dragon raid was happening at that very moment, and making sure Hiccup wasn't outside was pretty much part of the dragon raid procedure at that point.

Grab a weapon, look for Hiccup, stick him in a building, kill a dragon, stick Hiccup back in the building, kill a dragon . . . and so on. This time, it was Gobber that had done it, although he'd had some decent reasoning. Better than most, anyway. As soon as the horns blew, the blacksmith had come straight for him before he could even step out the door.

"But yer' the best there is, lad–"

"Gobber, you should know by now that flattery won't work on me," There wasn't even much to flatter in the first place. Hiccup was short, skinny, _scrawny_ , and the exact opposite of what every viking should be. To be fair, he _was_ only fourteen, but the other kids his age seemed a lot less bonier.

"It's still true though! Besides, yer' father would have my head if i let ya get out another one of yer' gizmos–"

"Inventions,"

"–same thing–one of yer' machines and cause _another_ disaster!" he said while pointing at a particularly choppy part of his mustache. Hiccup remembered when that had happened, a contraption with spinning axes, a nearly halved beard, and an endless stream of apologies had been involved.

He crossed his arms and frowned at Gobber, silent for a moment, before relenting. It wasn't as if he could help out in any other way.

"Fine, I'll stay at the forge. Wouldn't want good ol' Hiccup the _Useless_ to strike again, right?" he drawled sarcastically, stepping past Gobber and out the door. Gobber seemed to grimace at the self depreciative comment. Hiccup thought it was funny, and he probably wasn't _quite_ as useless as his nickname made him out to be. Or at least, he certainly hoped so. If only his crazy ideas hadn't gotten him in trouble so many times. There was also the fact that despite vikings never really thinking things through, Hiccup did even less so.

' _Hiccup the Crazy'_ He thought of the title in his head. Even 'Crazy' was better than 'Useless'. His cousin, Snotlout, had come up with that nickname when the two of them were only about 10 years old. The dark haired boy was brash and arrogant, and as soon as he was old enough to join the other kids in the fire brigade during dragon raids, he had abandoned Hiccup and become possibly his biggest bully. Seeing as how the entire village was his bully, that was saying something. Hiccup took pride in the fact that he could easily confuse his cousin with just a few words, but what he didn't take pride in, however, was how a headlock would magically appear around him, with his cousin's beefy arms on one end, and Hiccup's neck at the other.

As he walked down the slope upon which the Haddock household was built, he looked down at the village and saw that the fighting had already started. He shivered as a cold breeze blew straight through his thin brown vest and green tunic. Maybe he should have brought some furs. If anything, his shivering only proved how unvikingly he was, if that even was a word. It probably wasn't, and yet somehow Hiccup was the physical embodiment of being _unvikingly_.

He picked up his pace and rushed down toward the village. He ducked as a stray spear flew over his head. Hiccup glanced over to where it had come from, and a viking–with his beard ablaze, mind you–smiled over at his direction and waved. Hiccup awkwardly returned the gesture before continuing on his way.

Here you could see his entire happy little community;

There was Hoark the Haggard, who screamed, "Mornin'! What're you doin' out? Get into a buildin'!" before lobbing a boulder at a Gronckle,

There was Burnthair the Broad, whose shiny head gleamed as he too yelled at Hiccup, "Get inside!"

Phlegma the Fierce, who proceeded to spit onto her axe, then hopped onto the little bandwagon, shouting, "Go back inside, whelp!"

and Ack.

Ack usually spoke words of wisdom through his solemn silence and vague gestures. The words he had for Hiccup this time around, however, he showed by pointing in the direction of Hiccup's house and grunting. ' _Get inside.'_ The message was loud and clear.

He simply continued to smile awkwardly as he scrambled over bits and pieces of what was once a building, and dashed around a corner to the smithy. Just before he reached it, however, he was met with a scowling Stoick the Vast. The giant picked him up by the shoulders, yelling,

"Hiccup!? What is he doing out again?" he said to the crowd. "What are you doing out!?" Get inside!" he boomed, his scowl seeming scarier than the dragons as the flames lit up his face and matted red beard. He then set Hiccup down and looked off at the sky, searching.

Hiccup was in awe. That was Stoick the Vast, chief of the tribe. He'd heard that when Stoick was a baby he popped a dragon's head clean off its shoulders. Did he believe it? He stared as the chief grabbed a nearby wooden cart and hurled it impossibly high, knocking a dragon out of the sky.

Yes, he believed it.

"Hoist the torches!", he heard them yelling as he ran off. He didn't want to be around when the massive braziers went up to show just how many dragons were around. His poor sensitive nonviking stomach wouldn't be able to handle it. He snorted at his own joke, then bolted toward the closed building with its tall chimney.

He opened the door and began preparing the forge for all of the bent and dull weapons that were to come, and slid the panel above the counter upwards and propped it in place, so that the people could come ask things of him. Well, _demand_ was more like it.

Gobber was the village's actual blacksmith, and Hiccup's father had made him Gobber's apprentice several back, hoping to bulk him up. Obviously enough, it hadn't quite worked.

He remembered the last time he'd been here during a dragon raid, and what Gobber had said to him as he rushed in.

"Ah! Nice of you to join the party, eh? I thought you'd been carried off," the smith said as Hiccup put away all of Gobber's scattered prosthetics.

"Who, me? Nah, come on! I'm way too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all . . . _this_ ," he'd replied, striking a pose that he'd often see Snotlout do to get attention from girls.

"They need toothpicks, don't they?"

Touché.

Being Gobber's apprentice meant he could make lots of cool new weapons for the vikings, yes, but if anything, it provided Hiccup with the knowledge and resources necessary for his 'gizmos and whatnot'. Not to mention that a certain someone came by every week to have her axe sharpened…

He glanced out the window and saw the fire brigade at work, carrying around buckets of water to prevent the flames from spreading. Every kid around his age was in the brigade. That way, they can see the action first hand before entering dragon training, in which, to everyone's surprise, they learned to fight dragons.

Fishlegs, a rather large viking who was constantly spouting irrelevant facts and had once been his former best friend was part of the fire brigade. This was mildly surprising, because normally his timid and nervous nature would get the better of him and have him fleeing at the slightest sign of danger. The village's infamous troublemaking twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, were on the team as well, despite their reputation for disaster (exceeded only by yours truly). There was probably only half a brain between the two tall and lanky teens. Even his cousin Snotlout was on the fire brigade, and he had no brains at all. Well, seeing as how Hiccup lived in a village full of vikings, brains didn't matter all that much around here. Again, it wasn't as if his _brilliant_ ideas had gotten him very far in the first place. Last, but by _Thor_ definitely not the least, was Astrid Hofferson.

She had her back turned to Hiccup as she threw water on a wall that was going up in flames. The furnace roared, declaring that it was ready, but Hiccup hadn't even noticed, his eyes were glued to the aspiring shield maiden as she turned around, throwing her braid over her shoulder, golden bangs being tossed about wildly. The pale viking seemed to glow in the light of the fires, as the flickering flames died down behind her. It almost felt as if everything was in slow motion. Bit dramatic, maybe? Well, Hiccup had always had a dramatic flair.

Most people would describe blue eyes with something poetic like "the hue of beautiful skies above," or maybe "the deep vastness of the sea," but all Hiccup could think of was Thor's lightning, and how lightning could kill anybody stupid or unfortunate enough to be caught in a storm. Not quite poetic, but that was exactly what the words he would use to describe Astrid. He was _terrified_ of her, along with half the village, and yet . . .

She was everything that Hiccup wanted to be. Fiery and passionate, cool, popular and admired in the village, and determined above all else. Not to say Hiccup wasn't very determined, but nobody really cared unless it was directed at killing a dragon–which for Hiccup, it normally wasn't.

This all seems like some sort of story where, the protagonist who doesn't yet know his true potential falls for the fair maiden, and then he becomes a hero and sweeps her off her feet, and she falls in love with him, but Astrid was more likely to break his bones (and heart) than anything else.

The brigade gathered together and walked in such a way that Hiccup could only ever hope to be as cool as them, and in a moment of ambition he took a step towards the other kids to join them , when he was hoisted back inside with a familiar hook dragging him by the collar.

"Aw, Gobber come on. Let me out, please, I need to make my mark!"

"Oh you've made plenty of marks, all in the wrong places." the smith replied dryly.

"Please, just like, what, two minutes. I'll kill a dragon, and my life will get _infinitely_ better. I might even get a date!" he snarked, glancing in Astrid's direction. Not that she would actually notice him or anything.

"Tha' Astrid lass? She's trainin' to be a shield maiden, and yeh' know that she won't want te' marry and all that, don't yeh'? You'd only set her back. She's more likely to break your bones and heart than anythin' else. Not to mention yeh can't lift a hammer, you can't swing an axe . . ." Gobber picked up a pair of iron balls connected by rope. "and yeh' can't even throw one of these!" A viking ran by, quickly grabbing it out of Gobber's hand and hurled it at a dive–bombing Gronckle, which then crashed heavily into a nearby building with it's short legs tied. The universe was just determined to show Hiccup just how inept he is, wasn't it? It wasn't as if he didn'tknow that already.

"Okay fine, but," he ran to the back corner of the smithy and opened up a stall, dragging out a strange wheelbarrow–like contraption. He had his back turned to the smith, but Hiccup could practically see his eyes rolling. "– _this_ will throw it _for_ me!" He then opened the lid of the machine, and a wooden arm sprung up with what looked like a crossbow attached at the end. It would've been impressive, if it hadn't prematurely fired a shot and launched a bola, missing Gobber by a hair and taking out the long since forgotten viking waiting for her sword.

"Argh!"

Gobber drew in a breath. "Hiccup, this here is _exactly_ what I'm talkin' about."

"It's just a mild calibration issue."

"Hiccup, if yeh' ever want teh' get out there and kill dragons, you need to stop all . . . _this_." He gestured at Hiccup as he said that last word.

"But you just pointed to all of me."

" _Yes!_ That's exactly it! Stop being all of you."

"Ohhhh?" Hiccup replied, threateningly. If Gobber hadn't known him any better, than he was sure to have bashed Hiccup's head in, but the man had known him long enough to know that he wasn't trying to be serious.

"Ohhhh, yes," he said mockingly.

" _You_ sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping all this raw . . . vikingness contained. There will be consequences!"

"'Least yer' not tossin' yer' father's name around. An' I'll take my chances." he tossed a sword to Hiccup, who promptly failed to catch it and dropped it on the ground. "Sword. Sharpen. Now."

He begrudgingly lifted the blade onto the grinding wheel, while fantasizing. Some day he was sure to get noticed. He glanced over to an empty patch of land as a Nadder crashed onto it, one of it's wings heavily bruised. A Nadder's head was sure to get him some attention, especially seeing as how nobody would expect Hiccup to go anywhere near a dragon.

A little distance past the grounded reptile, a herd of short pig–like dragons were picking drying racks clean of fish, some already flying off with their mouths full, much like pelicans. He mused with the thought of dragons being nothing but strange birds for a moment before returning to his original train of thought. Gronckles would be hard, but killing one was bound to get him a date of some sort.

Just above the Gronckles, a stealthy, snake–like dragon was breathing gas in through a chimney. Zipplebacks? Exotic and exciting. Two heads for twice the fame. He shut his eyes as the second head poked through the door, spark in its throat. The dragon flew off, leaving debris scattered all about the plaza.

"Fire!" he heard someone shout, and he saw catapults hurling boulders into the sky packed with dragons. He then heard screaming as a huge red dragon whipped by, spraying the base of the catapults with sticky flames. Several men jumped off the catapult platforms into the ocean below in order to avoid the climbing flames. Only the best vikings went after Nightmares. If he killed what, ten or eleven of them, his dad just might look in his general direction with something other than shame.

Speak of the Nidhogg, his jaw dropped in awe as he saw a familiar red bearded giant clamber onto the platform, bloody hammer in hand.

"Come at me, you beast! I've already slain one of you today!" bellowed the chief. Yes, Stoick the Vast, village chief and all around hero was his father. Quite the shocker, huh? But being the chief's son isn't all it's quite cut out to be, himself being living proof of that, and if it meant having a son like Hiccup, then being chief was no different.

Checking to make sure Gobber wasn't around, Hiccup quickly tossed down the blade and loaded up his contraption with another bola. That man could walk around quite stealthily for somebody with one leg, but Hiccup's head had been elsewhere, so it makes sense that he wouldn't have noticed Gobber leaving.

Picking it up by the handles at the end, he quickly pushed his contraption out the rear smithy door and headed towards the back of the village, where no viking was likely to pick him up and throw him back inside.

He didn't hear the scream of terror that erupted from a viking cowering behind his shield as he uttered a warning and a dragon's name. He didn't didn't see the entire village duck under protection or run in fear from the terror of the night. He didn't notice the far off screeching sound, nor did he notice how it was followed by a massive explosion of bluish light, and the absolute destruction of their defenses.

Hiccup was completely unaware of the Night Fury.

 **-0000-**

 **Okay that's the end of the first chapter, although I may go back and rewrite it a bit some time in the future. Hopefully I'll have the second chapter finished and up within a week, but like I said, with school starting, I really don't know.**

 **Also,** _ **huge**_ **thanks to all of my friends who have agreed to read over and help me out with making this story as good as possible, you guys honestly provide me with a torn of assurance.**

 **Feel free to criticize and such, I could always do with more suggestions!**

 **Egg out!**


End file.
